


Wheatgrass and Froot Loops

by WhoNatural



Series: Howlnatural's TFLN Ficlets [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Actor Stiles, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Casual Sex, Derek in basketball shorts, Friends With Benefits, Idiots in Love, M/M, Miscommunication, Personal Trainer Derek, Pining, Scott is in a band, Shower Sex, Texts From Last Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 14:31:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1782406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoNatural/pseuds/WhoNatural
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You’re falling for him," she says, and it’s not a question. Stiles looks up, blinks, and shakes his head.</p><p>"No," he lies. "We work out, have really intense sex, and then eat cereal marketed for children. We have a system, okay? Why upset the arrangement?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wheatgrass and Froot Loops

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LionBunny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LionBunny/gifts), [kirashapedgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirashapedgirl/gifts).



> I'm gonna go ahead and call this a sequel to [Carrie’s ficlet](http://bleep0bleep.tumblr.com/post/85698530730/how-to-train-your-stiles) \- please read that first, because it is wonderful.
> 
> From a Text From last Night prompt asked by kirashapedgirl and lionbunny.  
> "I desperately need a ficlet inspired by the following quote: "(212):We work out, have really intense sex, and then eat cereal marketed for children. We have a system, okay?"
> 
> This was supposed to be a ficlet. Oops.

"Your loss…"

"I’m sure it is, buddy," Stiles smiles, not unkindly. "If I change my mind, i’ll let you know."

He turns away, only to flail so hard he almost knocks his scotch and soda off the table. “Jesus Christ, warn a guy!”

Lydia cocks her head down at him, lips pursed, and casts a considering look to the hottie going off in the opposite direction. “Stiles. Why is the newly-signed Abercrombie model walking away?” Her eyes flit to him. “Alone?”

Stiles glances back sheepishly. He should have  _known_ the guy was a plant from her. “ _Flirt a little, Stiles… find a boyfriend. A nice girl. You need positive publicity, and bi and gay men market better if they’re in a relationship._ ”

"Uh, he needed directions to the bathroom?"

She narrows her eyes, and he deflates.

"Look, I’m sorry, okay? But he looked like a Ken doll." He gestures vaguely to his crotch,  "I kept imagining him having nothing but a shiny, hairless mound when he took his pants off."

Lydia sighs as she slinks down opposite him. This club is nice - they’d picked it for the exclusivity, and she’d been convinced he’d find someone worthy of her ridiculous standards. Stiles knocks back his drink and raises his hand for another.

"Shouldn’t you be going easy on that?" she asks after putting in an order for something with a straw Stiles has never heard of. He twists his mouth.

"Cheat day started at midnight. You don’t have to baby me just because we’ve known each other since high school." He knows she doesn’t do this for any of her other clients. Lydia’s his friend first, agent-slash-publicist second.

"If you’re sure Derek won’t mind," she puts in primly. Stiles clenches his jaw - the problem with her knowing him so well is that she can pick out exactly what’s on his mind, just by looking at him. It’s the worst.

"I think Derek can handle a couple fingers of whiskey."

She raises her perfect eyebrows, mutters, “You would know.”[[MORE]]

He glares at her as their drinks are set down in front of him, and bites back on a retort for the sake of their friendship. It’s not Lydia’s fault he stiffens up at the mention of his trainer. It’s not even Derek’s. Stiles knows how these things work, and it’s his own stupid actions that let him sit in a bar with Hollywood’s most eligible, attractive people and not feel a damn thing.

"You know I’m only encouraging this because I have your best interests at heart," she says, delicately stirring her drink with the straw. "If you have another, more viable option—"

"I don’t."

"Are you sure?" Her eyes are sharp, and Stiles blows out a weary sigh.-

"He’s a trainer, Lydia. A really good one, and he’s gonna be really successful at it. What would it look like if it came out that he was fucking his first client from a major studio?"

She presses her lips together. With her business mind, she knows it’s true, but then, the Lydia who is his friend is obviously concerned.

"It’s casual. That’s all it was ever gonna be."

"You seem to understand this well enough," she comments, sounding like a proud big sister. "So what’s the problem?" 

She looks around the club, at the beautiful crowd laughing and networking - doing exactly what Stiles was sent here to do, but failed.

"You mean to tell me nobody here catches your eye?"

 _Not the way he does._ He stares into his glass.

"You’re falling for him," she says, and it’s not a question. Stiles looks up, blinks, and shakes his head.

"No," he lies. "We work out, have really intense sex, and then eat cereal marketed for children. We have a system, okay? Why upset the arrangement?"

"Because you’re _Stiles_. You can’t do casual. You always get in too deep and it ruins you for half a year until the next one.” He scrunches his face up, but she continues, “It’s like Heather all over again. You _knew_ she was dating someone else, but you convinced yourself the make-out scenes when you were filming the Virgin Chronicles meant more.”

Well, she’s not exactly wrong, but— Stiles thinks about Derek’s smile, Derek’s ridiculous arms, and the face he makes when he drinks wheatgrass shakes and pretends to like them, and he is done with this conversation.

"Look, Lydia, this isn’t gonna change anything. I’ll— I’ll find someone. Just let me do it on my own, okay?"

"If you must," she says, sighing. "But I’m curious. What are we paying your trainer for if he lets you eat Froot Loops whenever you want?"

Stiles frowns. “They’re my one weakness. He knows they’re my favourite - he bought me a box when we hit my half-way weight goal.” He’s not sure how this is relevant, but Lydia just smirks, leaves a stack of bills on the table, and picks up her purse.

"Hale the Hardass. Interesting," she says, and Stiles has no idea what that means.

—-

Stiles picks up the vibrating machine of  _death_ and answers. “ _Cheat day,_ " he groans and hangs up. His mouth feels like someone tried to wash it out with salt and his head is pounding. There are birds _screaming_ outside his window.

And then the knocking begins. He tries to cover his head with a pillow, but his phone starts vibrating again. _Knock, knock, knock— buzz,_

He concedes defeat, throws back the covers, and stomps out of the room in his underwear. “I’m _up!_ Jesus,” he barks, taking two attempts before finally throwing open the door to his apartment.

Derek is standing in the hall, in basketball shorts and a shirt with the sleeves cut off, with a rueful smile on his face. Stiles is not equipped for this much sex appeal first thing after waking up. He needs coffee - it’s cheat day, so he’s allowed.

"Good morning," Derek says pointedly, and Stiles squints at him.

"We have a schedule. Fridays I get to sleep in and eat cookies and you _don’t_ get to give me shit for it.” He steps back, allowing Derek inside. He smells like fresh bodywash and productivity, and if he wasn’t so fucking attractive, Stiles would resent him for it.

"I’m aware of the schedule _I_ outlined, Stiles.” He strides to the kitchen, picking up the juicer and proceeding to wash it out. Stiles follows in a daze that is partly to do with Derek’s ass in those shorts. “But I got a call from a trainer at an old gym I used to work at. She’s actually training Kira Yukimura for the movie.”

Stiles runs a hand through his hair and blinks. “Really?”

Derek nods, opening the fridge. “Yeah, we thought it’d be good for you guys to work out together, if you’re going to be co-stars. Erica says Kira’s doing pretty good.” He adds ingredients to the juicer, eyes skipping up to Stiles. “You’re grouchier than usual. Almost like you’re hungover.”

"Cheat day," Stiles groans, scrubbing a hand down his face. "If I’d known you’d be here at ass-o’-clock I wouldn’t have agreed to go out last night."

Derek raises a brow, measuring the shake by eye. “Good night?”

"Not really," he grunts. He’d let someone from a CW show buy him a drink before he’d found himself comparing the guy’s artful stubble and green eyes to ones he knows better, and came up short. "Lydia made me."

Derek’s eyes are doing their hyper-concentration thing on the task, that Stiles decided was hot as hell the first time he witnessed and the reaction hasn’t diminished in the slightest.  

“Oh,” he says, “Didn’t meet anyone important, I assume?”

Stiles raises a brow, squinting, and Derek licks his lips, shrugs.

"Usually I get the rundown on every celebrity you come across," he clarifies. "You called to tell me when you spotted the bus driver from ‘Speed One’."

"That guy rubbed shoulders with Sandy Bullock," Stiles says defensively. "That’s _greatness_. And if it’s the first movie in a franchise, I’m pretty sure it’s just called ‘Speed’.”

Derek shrugs, like there’s literally so much in the world he could care more about, and looks back at him expectantly.

“Oh, uh, nobody worth reporting,” Stiles admits with a sigh, slumping on to one of the stools. “It’s just a publicity thing.” He waves a hand out dismissively. “Agents.”

The juicer whirrs to life, then, and Stiles tries to will the room to stop spinning, watching Derek as he pours out the green sludge.

 _You could come with me next time,_  he thinks, but instead occupies his mouth with the atrocity Derek’s placed in front of him.

"Tastes like ass," he announces, like he always does, and it feels his hangover’s lifting a little when Derek smirks and replies " _You_ would know.”

And why does everyone keep saying that to him lately?

—-

"Stiles! Come on! Are you really gonna get shown up by a 110 pound girl?" Derek demands, crouching at his feet. Stiles scowls at him on the next sit-up, glancing over at where Kira’s face is all focus and Erica’s standing back with her arms folded over her sports bra.

"I’m… comfortable..with…my…masculinity," he pants, and Derek presses his lips together, fond. 

"Yeah, well, I’m gonna let her kick your ass if you don’t pick it up."

"You’re… just…trying to… beat Erica." He lets out a grunt. "You don’t even care that I’m _dying._ ”

Derek leans forward, chin almost brushing Stiles’ knees. He’s so close Stiles can feel the heat and static of him.

“If you make it to 250, I’ll make it worth your while,” he says, voice low, and Stiles almost loses his rhythm in the heat from those ridiculous eyes. He could kiss Derek, right now. Just lean that little bit closer and brush their lips together, suckle on his lip until he lets out a begrudging grunt - but they have an audience, and the best thing about working with him is saving all the pent-up tension until they’re alone.

The post-work-out period is pretty much the best time of his day.

He only realises how divided his attention is when, five minutes later, he finds himself pinned under Kira. Erica has her palms pressed together, fingers clapping with restrained glee from the sidelines. Stiles scowls from the mat at Derek.

"You said you wouldn’t let her kick my ass!"

Derek shrugs, turtle-facing. “Should’ve tried harder.”

"You’re surprisingly light.," Kira says happily, and he thinks his hangover came back, just now. 

"Gee, thanks," Stiles grunts, before turning his glare back to his trainer. "You’re paying for this later."

"Counting on it," Derek snarks, and Erica grabs his arm.

"Can I talk to you?" she asks him, "Kira, show Stiles some defensive postures?"

"Okay, he needs the help."

Stiles squints at her. “I can’t tell if you’re being bitchy or not.”

She shrugs. “You’re kind of terrible. But you’re my sidekick in the movie, so it’s fine.” Everything Kira says sounds like she’s delivering good news.

Stiles blows out a breath, hands on his knees. His back is aching almost as much as his head, and Derek and Erica are whispering off in one corner, not-so-surreptitiously watching in the mirror. “How long is it until we shoot again?”

"Why, having second thoughts?" she asks, widening her stance, and Stiles copies it as best he can.

"No, just wondering if I should hope for a miracle, or tell my agent to ask for a more dedicated stunt double."

Kira cocks her head, sighing. “Come on, it’ll be fun!”

She punches at his arm and, holy shit, Erica’s clearly been over-doing it on the weight training. Fucking  _ow._

"Okay, seriously, for such a tiny girl, what the— I was beat up less than this when Scott and I thought it was a good idea to try out for lacrosse."

Kira scrunches her nose, “Who the hell is Scott?”

"Oh, uh, he’s my friend," he says, suddenly remembering that not everyone has known him since forever, and don’t consider Scott and Stiles a package deal. "My _oldest_ friend. Don’t get to see him all that much since his band started touring.”

Her face grows interested, eyes lighting up. “Not… Scott McCall? From _Bullseye?_ ”

Stiles grins. Scott’d be stoked to know a famous actress had heard of him. “Yeah! I helped come up with the name way back when.”

Her jaw drops. “Shut up,” she breathes, hands coming to cover her mouth. “Shut up I _love him._ ”

"Seriously?"

"Stiles, you have to introduce me."

"Uh, okay?"

"Oh my god!" she says, jumping slightly, and Derek glances back with a crease in his brow. "Oh my _gosh_ , Stiles!” She lands an excited punch in his arm, right in the same place.

"I’m starting to think you like pain," he groans, clutching at the sore spot, just as Derek and Erica end their ridiculously-hot-people conference and amble back. He’s pinched-looking and red-faced, and Erica’s squinting between them like she’s got a mouthful of Sourpatch candy.

"Or, your trainer’s been letting you away with murder," Kira amends, raising a brow, grin still splitting her face.

Stiles straightens up. “Derek know’s what hes doing,” he tells her loftily, and Erica casts a glance at the guy in question.

"Hope so," she mutters, just before Kira flips Stiles over again.

 ___

"I think she sprained my ass, is that a thing?" Stiles groans, tossing his keys on to his end table and reaching for the bottom of his shirt, and Derek huffs. 

"Hope not," he says, voice low, and Stiles pulls the fabric away to note that he’s standing closer; right in front of him, eyes dark. He feels like he’s fucking  _edible_ when Derek looks at him like that, and shivers as a hand comes down to sweep over the vee of his hip, Derek’s nose brushing his cheek. ”I had plans.”

"Mmmph," Stiles says, turning his cheek to catch Derek’s lips with his own. He reaches out for him, tugging his ridiculous dudebro shirt and muttering, "Shower."

Derek follows, tripping off their shoes and it’s almost like an old habit now, coming back, sweaty and hot and worked-up. It’s bliss when they finally get their clothes off, Stiles reaching out to turn on the stream.

"Think that was the first session I had with you where I wasn’t half-hard the entire time," he says, stepping backwards, and pulling Derek with him by the wrist. The mirror is facing them, and Stiles can see over Derek’s shoulder and revel in the image framed right there on the wall; the tattoo on his back, the slope to his waist and the delectable musculature of his ass. He puts a hand on it, just because he can, because for a couple of hours he gets to feel possessive and lucky and like this is something all for his own, doesn’t have to give back at the end of the day.

"Glad to hear it," Derek says, and Stiles opens his eyes under the spray, watching Derek smile down at his body, like he’s marveling at it, like he’s touching with his eyes as well as his hands.

"Oh yeah? Jealous type, are you?"

"Shut up," Derek snorts, leaning in and silencing Stiles with a kiss that he feels right to his knees. He’s fully hard, now, water running in rivulets down his torso and Stiles lets his hands wander, memorises the crests and hollows of Derek’s body. Stiles has never loved touching someone so much in his life. Derek is like a drawing in an anatomy book, flawless and defined and it’s hard to believe he gets to be so intimately acquainted with the perfection of him.

It starts with lazy little grinds - they both have the afternoon free, not like they have to be anywhere, but Stiles would be hard-pressed to kiss Derek for longer than a few moments without it getting heated, Derek letting out raw little grunts when Stlies touches him right, gasping when he puts his lips in the space below his ear, hitching his hips in a silent urge for more. It turns into Derek crowding him back against the tiled wall, hand sliding up and down the length of him.

Stiles braces his forehead on his shoulder, watching Derek work, biting his lip at the sight of his dick tenderly disappearing beneath each twist of his hand.

"Yeah that’s— keep going, doin’ good," he mutters, and Derek dunts his nose into the crown of Stiles’ hair.

"Those are my lines," he jibes, and Stiles lifts his face to grin at him cheekily.

"Maybe I’m deprived. You were weirdly nice toda—  _ahh_ yeah, like that.”

Derek does this  _thing_ with his wrist and it’s a good thing he’s so solid because Stiles’ knees are  _not_ doing their job right now. Stiles’ chest jerks with the loss of air and he squeezes the buttcheek in his hand on reflex. Derek kisses a smile into his mouth, lining them up properly to get in on the action.

"It’s not my fault you get off on— ngh— being bossed around," he says, and Stiles is trying to reciprocate, he is, but his limbs have turned to rubber and Derek is  _so good at this._

"Yeah wh— well," he says, pausing to kiss the water off Derek’s jaw, breathe hotly into it, "just us next time, ‘kay?"

"Yeah," he nods, "Yeah, okay."

"And what was— you don’t have to tell me, but you and Erica. You were talking for a wh— _while, shit,_ and..”

"If you can think of Erica right _now_ , I’m not doin’ something right,” Derek says, nipping at Stiles’ ear and tightening his grip. He’s thrusting shallowly in time with the movements of his hand, and Stiles really isn’t sure what he was talking about as his orgasm builds up, pulling the breath from him in a long, drawn-out jolt.

Derek latches his lips onto his shoulder, Stiles hands touching him to stay afloat anywhere he can, and Stiles gets to watch the clench of those perfect gluteal muscles tense up in the mirror, Derek throwing his head back to curse at the ceiling, eyes closed in the warm spray.

He gets to kiss him tenderly as he comes, Derek sounding lost and needy as he lets himself go, and maybe he wasn’t being specific before because this?  _This_ moment, right now, is the best part of his day.

"Hmm," he says, running his nose down Derek’s cheek. "So glad I didn’t listen to Lyds last night."

"Oh?" Derek says distractedly. He’s got a wash cloth beneath the spray and is dragging it over Stiles’s back like it’s the most important job in the world.

"Yeah," he replies, come-drunk and relaxed. "Sh’wanted me to get a boyfriend." He snorts, and Derek’s hand stills. "But then I woulda missed all the fun stuff right here."

"Uh. Right," Derek says, staring at his hand, and Stiles takes an embarrassingly long time to catch on. 

Shit.  _Shit._

What kind of  _idiot_  tells the guy he’s currently sleeping with, that he’s on the lookout for someone else?

"I mean, uh… it’s cool, right?" he says, eyes widening. "It’ll probably be a public appearance thing, mostly, and—"

"It’s fine," Derek cuts in quickly, eyes on the cloth he’s turning over in his hands. “‘s not like— We’re creating a new image, right?" He offers Stiles a grin, still as breathtaking as the first time Stiles saw it. "You’re gonna be huge, and Lydia’s helping you get there." 

Stiles doesn’t have the presence of mind to examine the brick-heavy feeling in his stomach at that, so instead he playfully smacks Dereks ass and squeezes enough shampoo out for the two of them.

If Derek kisses him a little harder, grips him a little tighter after that, well. Maybe Stiles has inadvertently stumbled on to a spanking kink.

___

"So, Stiles, you captured the hearts of indie fans the world over with movies like _The Virgin Chronicles_ and _First Road To Nowhere,_ but the rumor mill has it that you’re branching out into a more action-based role for your next project. Was this a conscious thing?”

Stiles scratches his neck, eyes flicking to Lydia who is nodding encouragingly from the corner of the room. He hasn’t gotten any better at interviews, he doesn’t think - despite all her coaching. Maybe he’s a  _little_ better at not volunteering information, but only just. The interviewer gives him an open smile, and he licks his lips.

"Uh, yeah, it was. That’s not to say that I want to distance myself from where I came from. Those movies came at the best time in in my life, when I was broke and just happy to be in anything…"

Lydia winces.

"Not that— I was lucky they also happened to be good, well-produced films, too. Not every actor can say that," he lets out a nervous sigh, and Lydia smirks proudly.  _Good save._

"I guess I feel like I wanna show a little versatility. Some of my favorite actors today also spent their time as romantic leads - McConnaughey, Hardy, Joseph Gordon Levitt. They’re all amazing guys because they’re versatile. You’re not going anywhere if you don’t have goals."

The interviewer smiles and makes a note, adjusting her glasses for the next question. “So it’s not a reflection on you personal life?” she asks, smile teasing. “Readers of FlickFix Online will want to know  - is Stiles Stilinski giving up on love?”

Stiles swallows, and Lydia clenches her jaw - he’s got a feeling she’d tried to steer the interview away from these subjects, but since coming out last year, he can count the interviews on one hand where it didn’t come up.

"Not at all," he says, forcing a smile. "I’m a die-hard romantic, in my own way. That’s not something you can un-learn. I’m just super busy right now."

"So there’s nobody in your life currently catching your eye?" she asks, cocking her head sympathetically. He bites at his lip, wills the image of Derek out of his head, and shrugs. 

"Nope. Nada. What can I say? If the right person comes along, you make time for them. You make space for them in your life - but you gotta actually meet them, first." He chuckles, and the interviewer joins in politely, moving on to the next question.

.

"Let’s see her try to schedule an interview with you again," Lydia says, typing furiously on her phone as they make it to the elevator. Stiles sighs.

"It’s her job, Lydia. It’s not a big deal."

She stares at him as they turn to face the closing doors, raises a brow. “This is why I wanted you to find someone. These questions are so much easier to resolve when you have someone to talk about.”

"I thought I did pretty well," Stiles grouses, staring at the numbers counting down to the ground floor. 

She locks her phone with a sigh. “You did, but we’re lucky this wasn’t a video interview. Otherwise, the look on your face like someone told you you couldn’t play with any more puppies - _ever_ \- and you’re trying to be cool about it, is a dead giveaway.”

Stiles frowns. “Giveaway to what?”

"That there _is_ someone in your life, even though you’re denying it, and you’re angsting over it.”

Stiles swallows past the feeling that not-talking-about-Derek-yet-talking-about-Derek gives him. “We’ve been over this—”

"Yes, and I was assured everything was fine, except that for the last few weeks you’ve been distracted and grumpy." She narrows her eyes at him. "Did he dump you?"

"What? No. We’re not even dating!" he maintains, "How could he dump me?"

"You know what I mean," she says, not backing off an inch. "Have you stopped boning your trainer and are you now sad about it?"

"No," he says, and she tilts her head at him. " _No._ We’re still… doing that.” Just as much as always, same as always, except since that day with Kira, when they’d left the shower and Derek had skipped out on lunch, citing a family dinner.

Stiles hadn’t even known Derek  _had_ family, much less two sisters living in the city. Or that Derek had dinner with them every Friday night. Or about a thousand other things about Derek he realised he didn’t know, but wanted to, yet had no right to ask.

He’d meant to, next time; maybe slip it into conversation, but Derek had pulled him into one of the linen closets at the gym and sucked all coherent thought out of his brain through his cock.

Any time after that it just didn’t seem… right. Derek was himself; cocky, a little domineering, an amazing fuck, and Stiles would be an idiot to mess with that by bringing his stupid I’m-an-actor-I’m-an-emotional-Mack-Truck feelings into it. 

And from the way Derek was acting; kissing him until his knees went weak and skipping out with barely more than a goodbye, just like he always did, Stiles was the only one having them.

He’d been out three more times looking for someone to hook up with. Three times he’d come home alone.

"The first cycle of filming starts in a week. Are you telling me you’ll be fine with leaving LA, leaving _Derek_ , and moving on?”

The elevator pings and the doors open, leading them out to the lush foyer, bustling with people.

"Yeah. Cool with it," he lies, and Lydia purses her lips.

"Alright, well, your third-to-last session with him starts in an hour. Better squeeze all the no-strings fun-time out of it while you still can."

She walks ahead, and Stiles tries to hate her, he really does, but as always, fails miserably.

___

They don’t have sex on the last day.

Stiles has hit his final weight target, has a binder full of nutritional information to take to Vancouver with him, along with a running schedule and about ten different charts of stats to pass on to the on-set trainer, and had manged to coax Derek into getting frozen yoghurt.

"So what are you gonna do when I go?" he asks, stirring his tub distractedly. He wonders how often they could have been doing this, over the past three months, but decides to shut down that line of thought, because he leaves in the morning and this is hard enough as it is.

"I have other clients, Stiles," he snorts, licking the spoon clean of Berry Blast. It should not be as erotic as it is, and Stiles cannot have this conversation with a sad boner.

"Yeah, of course," he says, voice rough, and clears his throat. "All the Hollywood types will be after you ‘cause of the magic you worked with me, right?"

He shimmies on the stool, exaggerating the tightness of his stomach, the definition of his arms. He feels good, knows he  _looks_ good, and Derek gives hims a begrudging smirk. “Of course. Like _you_ weren’t an exception to keep my sister off my back.”

Stiles frowns. “What do you mean?”

Derek blows out a fro-yo-scented breath. “I was perfectly fine training new moms and old businessmen and kids trying to make first line in their football team before Lydia called the gym asking for someone who took no crap and wasn’t fazed by stardom.”

"So, wait," Stiles says, holding up a hand. "You _don’t_ want to work your way up to the A-List and start working with DiCaprio and Channing Tatum and the like?”

Derek scrunches his nose. “No thanks. I live in LA, I see enough of ‘em around.”

A sinking feeling worms its way into Stiles stomach. All this time -  _all this time,_ he’d been convinced that he was keeping some sort of professional secret; protecting Derek from the media and helping him, when, what? Derek had no need for it?

And Stiles had argued with his agent, danced around the subject in interview after interview, tried to will himself to be attracted to _anyone else_ and held himself back from every stupid declaration of his feelings, for nothing.

Adrenaline shoots through his veins. This could be it - he could finally say it. Finally tell Derek that he likes him and might even love him and wants to stay in on Sundays and not go to Hollywood parties and take stupid couple-selfies that Derek would hate and try not to barf up his protein shakes and  fall asleep  _together_ after having sex.

"Stiles?" Derek asks, vaguely concerned, and he looks at him.

He opens his mouth, eyes darting over that perfect, perfect face, and hesitates. 

He’s leaving tomorrow.

He’s leaving for five months and won’t be back in the city, and Derek hasn’t given any indication that he’s not content with how things were. Hasn’t offered any of himself in return, hasn’t been anything but a great trainer, and amazing lay, and a face for Stiles to think about when he falls asleep at night.

 _If he asked you to stay, would you?_ a betraying voice asks, and Stiles doesn’t even know the answer.

Derek knew what he was getting himself into. This is is _home_ and where his business is and he’s been nothing but supportive of Stiles pursuing his dreams.

It’s Stiles’ stupid, over-active emotions that are making this hard, not Derek.

He forces a grin, and takes a mouthful of yogurt, distracting himself with brain-freeze. 

"I’ll be sure to name-drop you to every A-lister I meet, then," he snarks, and Derek huffs out a laugh, stopping when he notices the clock.

"Have to leave?" Stiles asks, heart pounding.

"Yeah," Derek nods, letting go of his spoon. "Session in twenty minutes."

Stiles takes in a shuddering breath, and stands. “Guess this is ‘see ya’, then,” he says, holding out his hand. Derek frowns slightly, takes it, and looks at him.

"Yeah," he says, not letting go. "Good luck, Stiles. I can’t wait to see the movie when it’s out. You’re gonna be wonderful."

Stiles swallows the lump in his throat and nods. “Good luck with everything, too. I couldn’t have done it without you.” Derek smirks at the implied _literally.  
_

There’s a moment of nothing, hands still held, and Stiles bites on his tongue, back on everything he’s itching to say, and loosens his grip.

Derek surprises him by leaning in, placing the gentlest of kisses on his cheek, and whispering “G’bye, Stiles,” into his ear. With that, he turns, walks out of the shop, and out of Stiles life.

He sits back down and orders two more Berry Blasts. 

Fuck it.

____

"You guys are disgusting," he says, eyes covered from where Scott and Kira are snuggled together on the couch of her trailer.

Scott’s tour had come through Vancouver about a month into filming, the prospect of seeing him the only bright spot in a gruelling schedule of filming,  arguing with his on-set trainer - an ex-marine type who managed to suck every ounce of enjoyment out of maintaining his physique and shown him how easy he’d had it before - and determinedly  _not_ stalking a certain other trainer’s Facebook page.

Stiles had introduced them, and despite Scott being pretty devastated over Allison’s departure from the band to sign a solo record deal, an hour talking to Kira had him smiling like his old self again.

Stiles wishes he could hate them both for it, if they weren’t so goddamn adorable. His boy had really stepped his game up; sending flowers and gifts to set, calling her every spare second, and coming up with a thousand things to do when they’re both back in California, now that _Bullseye_ 's tour is done, and they don't start recording until the new year.

"You’re just mad because they had to re-take your kissing scene fourteen times yesterday," Kira says, levering herself up to get more coffee.

"Harley and I have zero chemistry!" he calls back at her, and Scott’s mouth is lifted on one side knowingly.

"Sure you haven’t got something else on your mind, dude?" he asks quietly, and Stiles shakes his head.

"Nope. And even if I did, that something else is in a different _country_ , has a whole life I’m not part of, and my job is here.”

 _“_ _If the right person comes along, you make time for them. You make space for them in your life,_ " Kira says, coming back to wedge herself in next to Scott with her steaming mug.

Stiles frowns. “That’s—”

"I like to do research on the people I’m working with," Kira says innocently, blowing on her coffee. She turns to Scott, plants a kiss on his nose, and he beams back at her like he’s in the best place in the world - like it’s not freezing outside with two feet of snow and there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. "It seems like good advice, Stiles. Maybe you should take it."

Stiles looks away as they share a kiss, thinks of California sunshine, basketball shorts, and warm green eyes, and feels colder than he has since the first blizzards hit.

An assistant dips his head in to call them to set, and Kira ruffles Scott’s hair as she stands, makes her way past Stiles, and down the steps.

Scott watches as Stiles snaps back into action, shrugging on his jacket and stepping into his boots. “She’s really smart, man,” he says, eyes intent, and Stiles looks at him, stomach twisting. “You’ve got a week left here, and nothing to tie you for a few months. There’s nothing to stop you going back to LA. Something to think about.”

Stiles nods, braces himself for the cold, and thinks about it.

He can think of little else for the rest of the week.

___

"Welcome to Focus Fitness, how may I— Mr Stilinski! Hi!" the girl behind the desk beams. Her name tag says Braeden and she has beautiful dark skin and looks exactly like you’d expect someone to work in a gym to. "What can I help you with today?"

"Is Derek here?" he asks without preamble, and winces, fumbling with the hem of his t-shirt. "I mean, I’d like to speak with Derek Hale. Please."

"As a matter of fact, he is," she smirks, looking him up and down. "If you’ll just give me a moment, I’ll—"

"I can take this," a voice cuts in, and Stiles gapes. 

"Erica? When did you—"

"Better benefits, increased pay, less skeezy clients," she says, waving a hand dismissively. "Whats up?"

"I, uh—" he flounders, remembering the excuse he’d come up with if this all went pear-shaped. "I need a trainer. I’m between cycles in filming and my character is supposed to come back all—" He bites his lip and curls his fists in front of him, mimicking a strong-man pose. Erica smirks.

"We can help you with that. In fact, I’m wide open since—"

"Actually I was hoping Derek could do it?" he cuts in, and Erica gives him a knowing once-over. "We built up a— a rapport, and I’ve had bad experiences with a really tough trainer since—"

Braeden snorts, and Stiles had forgotten she was there. “Someone’s tougher than Derek?”

"You’d be surprised," Erica mutters to her, and looks back at Stiles. "I see," she says, voice even. "Well, Derek’s super busy these days. and, I’m not sure that would be such a good idea, considering Derek’s…"

"Considering my what?" Derek cuts in, and Stiles loses his breath as he turns, noticing him for the first time, mouth gaping.

"Stiles," he says, voice soft. He looks even better than Stiles remembers; newly showered and gorgeous, shirt clinging to his wet skin and towel still draped over one shoulder. "When did you get back?"

"This morning," he blurts, instantly realising how insane he sounds. "I, uh, messed up body clock. Thought I’d get some things organised while I’m up and around."

"Stiles needs a trainer," Erica says, folding her arms. "I told him that you—"

"Yes," Derek says.

"Derek," Erica says, and they’re having a conversation with their eyes that Stiles cannot translate. "Are you sure you should be doing this?"

He clenches his jaw. “Stiles, you can come back to the office and we can outline a schedule that works for you. How long have we got?”

"Two months," he swallows, stepping past where Erica is shaking her head, Braeden about ready to bounce out of her seat.

"Wow. Even less," Derek says once the door closes behind them. He takes in Stiles a little more thoroughly. "You look good. Pale, but that’s nothing new."

Stiles’ heart is pounding so hard he can’t even pretend to be offended, and instead slumps into the seat. Derek’s office is covered in little pieces of him; trophies, medals from various marathons, photos of beautiful, brunette women who have to be his sisters, and various other little things that must have some kind of sentimental value, because they look meaningless.

Stiles wants to know them all. He wants to come visit Derek here and take him to lunch and be in the photos and get to know him, because right now they have nothing but potential, and Stiles is just tired, so so  _tired_ of wasting his.

"So right now I have a pretty full week, but I can reshuffle some things and—"

"I lied," Stiles blurts, eyes on the worn copy of A Clash of Kings on Derek’s desk. He hadn’t even known Derek read for pleasure. Derek looks up, hands stilling in the air over his keyboard, and he forehead creases. 

"I’m sorry, I—"

"I lied. I don’t need a trainer," he says, and shakes his head. "No, well, I _do_ , but they offered to employ one for me back in Canada and all I could think was I  _hate_ working out and I hate the cold and I  _hate_ spending another five months without seeing… you.” 

He looks up at last, and Derek’s face is a confused mix of bewildered and betrayed, moving into stoic nothing faster than he could blink.

It’s a long moment, and then Derek says, “You left.” Stiles frowns, but he continues, “You left and you’re always going to be leaving, and you’re supposed to be with someone else. Someone perfect and charismatic that they can package into the perfect public image and I just—” He lets out a breath. “I can’t be that, and I’m not— My life his here.”

"So is mine," Stiles says, sitting forward, "If you’re here, then so is mine."

Derek looks guarded, dubious. “You can’t promise me that.”

"I will. Sometimes my work might take me away from here, but I’ll come back. I’ll come back to _you._ I wanna see you all the time, and be able to talk to you whenever I want, no excuses. I wanna eat sugar-loaded cereal with you, and hear about your day, and watch _Game of Thrones_  together and wake up next to you as much as I possibly can.

"And I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but when the right person comes along, you make space in your life for them, and I’d rather miss you for a few months of the year than go the rest of my life wondering if we could have made it work.”

He stands up, walks around the desk, and crouches to Derek’s height. “I’m just asking you to try. I think we could be worth it, if we just _try._ ”

Derek looks at him, eyes darting between his, and reels him in by the front of his shirt, pressing a fevered kiss to his lips; kissing Stiles until they’re out of air, heads swimming, the best endorphin buzz he’s ever felt.

"Missed you," he murmurs against Stiles’ lips, surging back in and cutting off his reply. Stiles leans their foreheads together, catching his breath. "I’ve been impossible. Drove Erica nuts."

"I almost got fired from the movie because I couldn’t kiss anyone else. Just wanted you."

"Good," Derek says, smirking, and Stiles bites at his lip.

"Knew you were the jealous type," he replies.

___

"Stiles! How are you? Excited for the premiere?"

It’s the lady from FlickFix Online again, standing in the press pit, microphone thrusting out towards him.

"It’s been a ride," he laughs over the bustle of the other reporters, taking in the hubbub. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to this. "We’re all really proud of it, and we hope everyone will give something that’s not an adaptation or a sequel or a reboot a chance."

She nods encouragingly as he finished, straight into the next question. “And the hot new couple of the moment is your co-star, Kira Yukimura and your childhood friend, Scott McCall of _Bullseye_. Was that something you had a hand in?”

He snorts. “All I had to do was make the introductions - when two people are as perfect together as they are, they’ll find their way to each other.”

"Adorable! And what about you? Rumor has it that you’re pretty loved-up yourself!" she says.

Stiles glances back to Derek, grumpy-faced in his tux and being prodded to stand further back by Lydia, no less intimidating in a ball gown.

"What can I say?" he replies, stomach fluttering as Derek catches his eye, offers a warm smile, all for him. "You make space."

**Author's Note:**

> I am [howlnatural](http://howlnatural.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.


End file.
